


Memory Is a Way of Holding onto...

by JustAnotherUnderstudy



Series: I Remember Your Mom [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Fantasy, Ghosts, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Not AU, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Canon, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Characters, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings, Rare Relationships, maybe canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherUnderstudy/pseuds/JustAnotherUnderstudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory is a way of holding onto<br/>the things you love,<br/>the things you are,<br/>the things you never want to lose.<br/>~~Kevin Arnold~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like Tears in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Characters aren't mine, mistakes are. That's all for this round.

_All of those moments will be lost_  
_Like tears in the rain._

The rain had been coming down in sheets since he woke. It sliced through his coat like icy pin pricks against his skin. It poured off the brim of his hat looking so much like a waterfall. His feet were soaked and his boots sloshed as he walked along the road. He had nowhere in particular to go, but he did want out of the rain. The rain around him started to reflect light and he turned around to face the approaching vehicle hand held out, thumb up, hoping he didn’t look so grizzly the driver would ignore him and keep driving. The truck slowed then stopped. He ran toward it and opened the passenger door.  
  
"Where you headed?" A gravely male voice asked.  
  
"Not really sure, sir," he replied. "Just want out of the rain for now."  
  
The driver nodded and waved him in and started back down the road after the door was shut. He was aware he was dripping everywhere.  
  
"Sorry abut the water," he said.  
  
"Pay it no mind, son," the driver said.  
  
The cab of the pickup was warm and he took his hat off and loosened the collar of his coat.  
  
"Not much out this way 'cept Miss Annie's place," the driver said. "She'll feed ya and put ya up though, if that's what ya need."  
  
"I couldn't impose," came the reply.  
  
"Wouldn't be imposing," the driver said. "Ain't no one in this valley Miss Annie hasn't helped. She'd probably be disappointed to hear there'd been a cold hungry stranger who didn't stop by."

"She got a restaurant or something?" He asked.  
  
"Nope, she's got herself a small farm, 'bout 20 acres, little house to go with it," the driver said.  
  
"Think she'd let me earn my keep?" He asked.  
  
"I think she'd be delighted," the driver said.  
  
"How'd Miss Annie come to live so far out in the middle o' nowhere?" He asked.  
  
"Well, she got the place on account o' her boy," the driver said. "But she lost him to the war."  
  
The driver shook his head.  
  
"Lost her husband to the war before that one."  
  
"Hell of a lot to lose," he said.  
  
"Yeah, but she's real good to all us veterans livin' 'round these parts," the driver said. "You a vet?"  
  
The man felt the question like a weight and took his time answering.  
  
"Yeah," he finally said.

The truck rambled down the muddy road another few miles. The driver talked about the hills around that they couldn't see, talked about the various farms and a bit more about Miss Annie.

As the man observed the driver's  wrinkled face he thought the permanent scowl etched into his skin was a contrast to the friendliness in his voice. And a vague familiarity danced just outside his memory.   
  
"Makes the best chicken 'n dumplin's a man ever had," the driver said.  
  
"That's my favorite," he said.  
  
"Had 'em lately?" The driver asked.  
  
"No, sir, not since before..."  
  
He trailed off and was silent.  
  
"That's OK, son," the driver said. "War'll do that to a man, to a woman too. At least that's what Miss Annie insists. And I suppose she'd know."  
  
The truck slowed and pulled to a stop across from a white cross fence with an opening to a short drive that led up to a small white farmhouse with a wraparound porch.  
  
The lights glowing in the window gave the small house a warm and welcoming feel.  
  
"Just go on up," the driver said. "She's up and she'll probably have something warm in the pot."  
  
"Thank you," he said and put his hat back on.  
  
"Hopefully you'll be around long enough I can give you a ride in better weather," the driver said and stuck out his hand.  
  
"Chet," the driver introduced himself.

The man looked at the hand a moment and wondered at the wisdom of sharing his own name. He looked back up at the driver. Chet didn't seem too concerned about how long the reply was in coming.  
  
Finally he took the offered hand.  
  
"Bucky," he said. "Bucky Barnes."


	2. Good Food and a Warm Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good food and a warm kitchen are what makes a house a home. Rachel Ray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the house. Hope the link works. It has weird characters. http://houseplans.southernliving.com/plans/SL224?search%5Bbedrooms%5D=&search%5Bfloors%5D=&search%5Bid%5D=Farmhouse&search%5Bsort%5D=total_heated_square_footage-asc&search%5Bstyles%5D=&search%5Butf8%5D=✓

Chet drove away as Bucky walked up to the door. He took the few steps and felt relief when he walked under the porch roof. He took off his hat and knocked on the door.  
  
It was opened less than a minute later. And Bucky faced a small, blonde woman, maybe 40 years in age. She was dressed the part of farm woman, including an apron over her dress. She had flour on her chin. But Bucky's attention was immediately drawn to her smile.  
  
"Oh, would you look," she sighed happily. "Company. Come in, come in."  
  
"Miss Annie, I presume," Bucky said as she took his hat and waited for his coat.  
  
"Yes. That's me."  
  
Her voice had a familiar accent.  
  
"You from New York?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, Brooklyn born and raised," she said.

She asked his name and he only hesitated a moment before giving it to her.  
  
She took his coat once he removed it and hung it with his hat on a coat stand under which was a towel to catch the water that dripped. Then she led him across the room to the fireplace and had him take his shoes & socks off and put them in front to dry.  
  
The fire was roaring high and Bucky felt warmed instantly.  
  
"How about some stew?" She asked.  
  
Bucky thanked her as she handed him the bowl. Miss Annie sat in the chair next to him as he ate his fill. As his hunger was sated he relaxed into the soft chair. He couldn't remember when he'd felt this good. For an instant he panicked and wondered if there was something in the stew, some sort of poison. He must have mumbled his concern aloud because Miss Annie replied.  
  
"Won't have that trouble here," she said.  
  
Bucky tensed and looked at her but she didn't seem shocked at his fear. There was no offense in her look.  
  
"You get this often?" He asked.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"No, but it affects each one his or her own way," she said.  
  
"War?" He asked.

She nodded and her eyes took on a far away look familiar to him.  
  
"Yeah," she said.  
  
She turned back to him and held his gaze for a moment.  
  
"Can I get ya some more stew?"

"No, Miss, I'm quite OK," he said.

"I'll see if I don't have some night clothes that fit you," she said, her eyes sizing him up. "You're a lot bigger than my boy was but I have a few spare clothes for guests."

She stood and walked toward the back of the house. Bucky watched her and wondered about her son. Bucky had never thought of himself as a very large man. But he realized he had filled out since he was younger. Middle-aged white guy body, he'd heard someone say once. Was he middle-aged? He couldn't recall exactly how old he was. He only knew he was a hell of a lot older than he looked.

Sarah returned with a set of solid blue pajamas. They looked warm and comfortable.

"Let me show you the guest room," she said.

He was more than a little surprised.

"I, uh, I can just sleep in a barn, or something," he said.

"Or something?" she said and raised an eyebrow at him.

The look on her face was familiar and pulled at a memory he couldn't hold onto.

"Maybe the chicken coop? Or would you rather the pig pen," she crossed her arms over her chest and smirked.

Sassy dame, Bucky thought, with a smile of his own.

"You don't know the half of it," she replied, though Bucky thought he had surely kept that thought in his head.

She turned and he stood to follow her down the hall.

The bedroom was nothing out of the ordinary. A twin bed, a nightstand, a small desk by the window with a chair tucked underneath, a dresser with a mirror above. There were two windows, one next to the bed, and one above the desk. The one above the desk looked out onto the road he'd just been on, the other to the side of the house.

"When you're changed you can just throw them in the wash here," she opened the door next to the bedroom to reveal a small laundry closet with a stacked washer/dryer, "so you'll have them for the mornin' and we can go into town and see if there's anything your size at the Merc," she said.

"The Merc?" Bucky asked.

"The Mercantile," she said.

Bucky raised his brows.

"Been a long time since I heard a store called that," he said.

Miss Annie only shrugged and pulled the door closed behind her when she left the room.

Bucky changed out of his clothes and into the pajamas quickly then put the old clothes into the washer. 

"Here's a robe I found that should fit," Miss Annie said as he walked back into the kitchen.

He shrugged it on and tied it loosely in front.

Miss Annie had turned her attention with the stove top where she was heating something in a pot. It had been a long time since Bucky had watched anything made in a home kitchen and he found himself oddly comforted at the way she moved the spoon slowly through the white liquid.

"Steamed milk," she said. "Helps me sleep."

Bucky looked up sharply. It souded familiar. He wasn't quite sure where he'd heard that but the feeling surrounding the memory was pleasant and Bucky relaxed more. 

"Care for some?"

"Thank you, I would," he said.

She pulled two mugs out of a cupboard and filled them with the milk. Then they sat at the kitchen table. It was covered with a vintage tablecloth and coupled with the steamy cup, Bucky found it soothing. He watched the steam rise and curl above the mug, mesmerized. The movement of Miss Annie taking her own mug to her lips pulled him out of the trance.

They drank down the milk in silence. But she didn't seem uncomfortable with it. She didn't try to start conversation or ask any questions. When he finished she stood to take the mugs but he insisted on washing them out. 

She showed him where the downstairs bath was as well as the linens and told him he was welcome to sit up and listen to the wireless if he'd like. Her bedroom was up the stairs from the living room and she said her goodnights and followed them up. Bucky went to sit before the fire which he now realized heated the room. Slowly his eyes began to drift shut. Suddenly he jerked awake as a thought occurred to him. Turning in the chair he looked toward the alcove beneath the stairs. Set on the shelf was indeed an old wireless. But no one called a radio a wireless anymore. Maybe Steve, by accident. But even Bucky didn't use that word. And 'mercantile' as well. 

Bucky shook his head and stood and walked through the room to turn off the lights then he went to the extra bedroom. He paused at the threshold and looked at the door across the hall. It was shut, and it was the only room she hadn't shown him. He thought about Chet's words, that Miss Annie had bought this place for her son but that he'd never returned from the war.

A sense of sadness began to engulf him as his memories began to play in his head. He shouldn't be here. He didn't deserve this kindness, no more than he'd deserved Steve's trust. What if it was Bucky who had killed her son? He'd killed so many people over so many years that it was possible he'd killed her husband as well.

The washer was running, though now he couldn't recall anyone starting it. He'd throw the clothes in the dryer when they were done and leave as soon as they dried.

He went to lay down on the bed and pulled the quilt up over him. Taking a deep breath he found the scent familiar, soothing, good even. He closed his eyes. He'd just rest until he heard the washer finish. He slept on a hair trigger anyway. He wouldn't miss hearing it.


	3. The Value of a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. Dr. Seuss

The birds were chattering away to each other outside his window as Bucky slowly woke. He breathed deeply as he stretched on the bed. The smell of bacon permeated his senses. He felt warm and comfortable all over in a way he hadn't since...

He bolted upright in the bed.

It was morning! How the hell did that happen? He was just supposed to wait until his clothes were dry.

He looked around the room and saw that his clothes had been folded neatly and stacked on his desk. His boots were shined and on the floor beneath.

From the brightness of the room Bucky figured it must be at least 8am. How had he slept through any of this? The laundry finishing. The clothes being transferred right outside his door. Miss Annie getting up and moving about the house. Miss Annie coming into his room and leaving his clothes. He just never slept like that. But, god did it feel good. He felt human for the first time in far too many years.

As he dressed, he decided he could at least work some today to pay back Miss Annie's hospitality. Then he could leave tonight. When he sat on the bed and reached for his shoes he was forced to admire the shine. Hell, for that job alone he should probably stay a week and work. He'd never shined these boots. He was embarrassed to think how long it must have taken her bring them to military grade shine.

When he entered the kitchen he found Sarah at the stove turning pancakes. On the table was a basket of biscuits, and plates of bacon and scrambled eggs. 

"Mornin' Bucky. Have a seat, these are just about done."

Bucky greeted her and sat down. She brought the stack of pancakes and a pot of coffee. 

"I hope it's all to your liking," she said.

"It looks and smells amazing," he said.

As he ate the scents and the flavors pulled at long forgotten memories. He tried to concentrate, tried to remember but as it had been for some time, it was just out of his grasp.

"I haven't eaten this well in so long," he said.

The look she gave him tugged at his heart. It was as if she knew, not just in general, but specifically. 

"Did your mother feed you like this?" She asked.

"My mom, Steve's mom..."

Bucky stopped and looked back at her. What was it that was so familiar about her, about this meal?

"More coffee?"

Miss Annie's question interrupted his thoughts. 

"Yes, please. It's delicious too."

She smiled.

"Not many folks drink it black anymore." She said.

"Nope, now they put all kinds of flavorings in 'em." He said.

"I haven't tried any. But our new sheriff, she's quite the coffee connoisseur. She makes up all sorts of concoctions. If ya want some, she's the one to ask."

"This is fine, ma'am."

They finished up their breakfast and Bucky insisted on washing the dishes. When they were finished, Miss Annie took him out to her old Ford truck.

Bucky recognized it as a '40.

"I got it when I arrived here and it's worked fine. No need to replace it." She explained when he asked why she had such an old vehicle.

They drove into town, which turned out to be one of the smallest towns Bucky had ever seen. There was a mercantile, a saloon, a doctor, a sheriff's, and a few other buildings without signs. If it weren't for the cars and the electric wires to and from the buildings, Bucky would have sworn they were on a studio's 'western' back lot. 

"The town was cobbled together as more people arrived," Miss Annie had explained.

Bucky could definitely see that. There was no real uniformity at all.

When they entered the mercantile they were greeted by the proprietor, a British man by the name of Monty. He looked to be around the age of Miss Annie. But his eyes were tinted with a sadness Bucky couldn't understand. 

He helped Bucky find some denims and shirts and Bucky pulled his wallet to pay at the register. He stared at the cash for a moment, trying to recall where he'd got a hold of that much money.

When he looked up Monty was giving Miss Annie a hard look. And Miss Annie stared right back as if answering the challenge.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes my mind draws a blank." He explained, thinking Monty was reacting to his actions.

"Quite alright old boy," Monty said.

Monty watched them as they left.

"How long has he been here?" Bucky asked.

"Monty was one of the first to arrive," Miss Annie said.

Her voice was tinged with sadness and Bucky didn't get that either.

They walked across the street to the saloon, though Miss Annie said it was more a restaurant, saloon just made it sound more exciting.

Inside things were set up like a saloon. There was a player piano in the corner and the tune coming out of it was familiar to Bucky. He stared at it as a man approached Miss Annie and he tried to figure out where he'd heard it before.

"Really, Tim," Miss Annie said under her breath.

"Just trying to give it a push," the other man replied.

Bucky turned to the pair and Miss Annie introduced them. Tim was an older man, portly, a ready smile. His eyes twinkled with an inside joke Bucky thought he should be a part of. His mustache was the most distinctive part of him, however, with handlebars that Bucky hadn't seen on an American since...well, he couldn't remember at the moment but he thought the memory was important.

They sat at a table and picked up the menus. Tim brought them some water and told them the day's soup was minestrone. There were so many choices that Bucky just settled on the soup. Miss Annie ordered a Caesar salad.

The food came quickly but as they ate the saloon began to fill with customers, all men, some older, some younger. There was an Asian fellow Miss Annie introduced as Jimmy, but the man seemed to wince at that. A Frenchman named Jack sat at the table next to them. An African American man named Joe sat with him, and finally Monty joined Jimmy at his table. 

Bucky felt under a microscope but he supposed in a town this small people would be curious about a visitor. Fortunately they didn't ask any questions, they just seemed content to eat their meals and cast the occasional glance at him.

Tim brought them blackberry pie a la mode for dessert and Bucky couldn't believe his luck. He hadn't had it in ages and it had always been his favorite. Before the depression his mother would make him one for his birthday each year. He smiled up at Miss Annie and she smiled back as if she somehow knew how the pie made him feel.

They were finishing up when the doors swung open again and Bucky saw Chet walk in. He came over to their table.

"How are you, son?" He asked. He placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

"Just fine, sir," he replied.

"I knew you would be," Chet said.

When Tim walked back into the room from the kitchen his gaze landed on Chet. 

"I've got Pe...um, the sheriff's lunch for you." He said.

He turned back to the kitchen mumbling to himself and shaking his head. But what Bucky noticed the most was that there had been an instant tension by all the room's occupants then a collective silent sigh of relief.

"Well, we should go. I've got the afternoon milking." Miss Annie said as she stood.

She left the payment on the table, though Bucky didn't recall seeing a bill. As they walked out, Bucky held the door for her and Tim came back in with a lunch bag.

"I suppose this'll be regular with, um, H.S. in the lock up." He said to Chet.

"Has to be. He's like Houdini even when he's soused. And you know..." Chet's voice trailed off as he turned to where Bucky had paused to watch the exchange.

Bucky turned and followed Miss Annie wondering why all the odd actions of the men hadn't made him more nervous. He realized he should be even more worried because he was missing something. Something he normally carried. What, he couldn't recall, but it was for self protection. 

As Miss Annie drove them back to her farm, Bucky watched out the window, the rolling lush green hills slowly mesmerizing him and clearing his thoughts. Not the way a HYDRA mind-wipe did, this was gentle and calming. It helped him process the thoughts that had plagued him. He could think about Steve without worry or fear. He could think of everything his friend had done for him, all Steve's sacrifice, without guilt. He knew Steve was taken care of, that he had loyal friends who loved him as deeply as Bucky had. One day, when it was safe, he'd return.

Something about those thoughts was odd. It was as if there was a step missing. What had happened between the last time he'd seen Steve and now?

"How'd you like our little town? "

Miss Annie's voice interrupted Bucky's thoughts. 

"Not sure I've ever seen one so small," he said.

"It was just me in the beginning, when I first arrived," she said. "Slowly people arrived after me."

She laughed.

"We haven’t even named it." 

Bucky watched her as they drove on. The way her eyes laughed, the way her lips curled up in a soft smile, it was both familiar and comforting. 

Once back at the farm, Miss Annie showed Bucky around and then pulled one cow into a stall in the barn. She set up a stool and clean bucket and showed him how to get the milk from the cow.

Bucky looked at his gloved hand wondering if he'd be able to do it right with his metal arm. 

"Just give it a try. If it's not the right job for you I can assure you there's plenty other work to do."

The way she looked at him, confident, no fear, Bucky tried not to think about how she might look at him if she found out who he was and what he had done.

He set to milking and found he was quite good at it. There were three cows to milk and when he was done, Miss Annie showed him how she poured the milk through a straining mesh in case there was any debris, then she covered the new buckets with lids and put them into a refrigerator she kept in the barn.

"The boys will come by and pick it up during the week as they need it," she said.

"Boys?"

She laughed.

"I guess they're men now aren't they? But I call them boys because...well, I guess because they arrived after me."

She had faltered mid-sentence, her pause full of a meaning Bucky didn't understand. But he didn't ask.

There was weeding and harvesting in the garden, the produce stored in a dugout between the house and the garden. Apparently the fellows from town would pick those up as needed as well. Bucky was taught the importance of sampling as he harvested. Miss Annie smiled as she watched him eat up the peas and blackberries. Bucky had never had produce this fresh.

"That's amazing. I didn't know veggies could taste so good." he said.

"I never did either. When I first tasted the peas off the vine, I just sat down and ate as many as I could. Nothing like fresh food."

Miss Annie had him do the evening milking while she made dinner. Bucky strained the milk and put it in the refrigerator as they'd done earlier. Then he put the cows into a smaller paddock next to the barn where they stayed the night.

He walked slowly back to the house taking in the scenery of the farm as he went. He'd never considered chickens and ducks, cows and cattle soothing before, but the sounds of the animals and the scents mingled with the fresh air seeped into his senses and calmed his nerves. There was something different about this place, something he'd never known before. He'd be sorry to leave it.

When he stepped onto the porch he saw Miss Annie through the kitchen window. Her hair was falling in wisps from her ponytail and her face was flushed from the heat of the stove. But there was a permanent smile on her lips, as if they naturally fell upward. He recalled the gentle way she talked with the animals and the way she showed him how to do the various chores. She was never exasperated or angry with him when he didn't know how to do something.

He almost turned around and walked away. If he'd been the one who'd hurt her, who'd taken away her son and her husband, it would be more than he could bear. He put a hand on the railing and turned his foot, but movement by the kitchen window caught his eye and he turned to see Miss Annie smiling at him. He took a deep breath and walked through the door.

The scents that hit him flooded Bucky with memory. For a moment he was afraid something had been triggered, something that terrified him, but then it came, as clear as the day it happened.

_Steve, not that man science created, but the one weak in body with a spirit unlike any Bucky had ever encountered, sitting at the table in the Rogers' apartment. He was laughing at something Bucky said. Behind Steve, Mrs. Rogers was at the stove, making Bucky's favorite dish, Chicken and Dumplings. The occasion was vague, was it Bucky's birthday? Or was it just that Steve's mom was the kind of person who did things for others because it made them happy? Bucky watched her from his seat at the table. When she grabbed up the towels to bring the hot pan over, Bucky stood and did it for her. He could almost see her smile, almost see her face as she looked up at him and thanked him. God, it had been so long since he'd seen her, seen his family. They were all gone..._

"Bucky, go ahead and get washed up, supper's just about ready."

Miss Annie's voice brought him out of the memory. She was busy setting the table and didn't seem to have noticed Bucky lost in his thoughts.

When they sat to eat she had an odd look on her face.

"This is my favorite meal, you know?" he said.

"Chet might have mentioned it," she said.

She looked down quickly at her food but Bucky was sure he'd caught a look of sadness in her eyes before she did.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Bucky savoring the meal even more than he had breakfast.

"I haven't eaten this well in so many years," he said.

Her breath was shaky as she inhaled before she looked up at him.

"What happened?" she asked.

Bucky looked away toward the hearth. There was already a small fire there.

"I'd rather not spoil a nice meal with that," he said.

"That's fine. I understand," she said.

Bucky finished his meal, the food seemed to warm his entire body as it went down. There was coffee and some fresh greens on the side. For dessert she'd made Peach Cobbler. When she'd had time to do all this, Bucky wasn't sure. She reminded him of his mother and Mrs. Rogers, especially Mrs. Rogers. Steve's mom worked, took care of Steve, and somehow had time for cooking and especially desserts.

_"I'm ruined for life." Bucky said._

_The memory floated like the vision from earlier. He and Steve were laying in Steve's room. It was late at night, Mrs. Rogers was working and he and Steve had finished off the last of the dessert. Bucky stared at the ceiling from his blanket on the floor, Steve leaned over the side of his bed. They must have been in high school. Bucky thought he recalled Steve having two shiners their senior year._

_"How's that?" Steve asked._

_"Your mom. She's amazing," Bucky said._

_"How does that ruin you?" Steve asked._

_"I'm never gonna find a girl like her," Bucky said._

_"Well, she's single," Steve said._

_Bucky looked at him sharply._

_"Are you trying to marry me off to your mom?"_

_Bucky chuckled but he had to tamp down on the thought that it wasn't such a terrible idea._

_"Well, if you did, I guess it'd give you a right to boss me around,_  dad."

_Steve pulled the pillow out from behind him quickly and threw it at Bucky. Bucky grabbed it up and tossed it back in Steve's face._

_"Punk." He said._

_"Jerk."_

_"Hey, don't talk to your father like that."_

_They both laughed heartily. When they finally calmed Bucky shared something with Steve he hadn't before._

_"I hope I get a wife like your mom and we have a kid like you," he said._

_"You mean all sickly?" Steve asked._

_"No, Steve. Just the way you are. The way you look out for others, the way you stand up for people, the way you use your voice even when others are afraid."_

_Steve was silent and stared at the ceiling himself for several monents. Finally he spoke._

_"I hope I'm around for that," he said._

_Bucky felt his throat tighten. Steve had a point. This last time had been too close. The doc had even told his mom to call the Priest._

_"You will be," Bucky said when he finally found his voice._

 


	4. Love and Pain and Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We all carry around so much pain in our hearts. Love and pain and beauty. They all seem to go together like one little tidy confusing package. It's a messy business, life. It's hard to figure--full of surprises. Some good. Some bad." Henry Bromel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose the benefit of shipping one of the most rair pairings in fanfictiondom is that one is never bugged about updates. :D Here's one. 
> 
> I am in training for my new position at work this week so I might actually have more time to write and update my other two stories. :)

Bucky fell easily into Miss Annie's daily routine after the first day. He rose as soon as he heard her moving about the house and joined her for coffee. They fed the animals, milked the cows, collected the eggs. Then they had breakfast.

Next was the garden. It was the biggest garden Bucky had ever seen. Miss Annie grew vegetables, fruit, and flowers in rows. Beyond that area there were fruit trees of all types. They spent the morning harvesting and planting and weeding, whatever needed to be done most. 

By lunch they were joined by at least one of the fellows from town who'd come by to pick up milk and produce. Lunch was an elongated affair. Miss Annie and he visited with their company for a while before returning to their chores.

In the evening the two of them would sit next to the fire, drink a mug of steamed milk, and talk.

Once a week they went into town for supplies and stopped to have lunch at the saloon. Bucky knew the guys now so they would talk. The camaraderie was something Bucky recalled but hadn't felt in far too long.

It wasn't long before Bucky lost any notion of leaving, and only a little longer before he lost all track of the days. His mind hadn't been this quiet in longer than he could recall. It felt good.

As a result, he wasn't sure how long he'd been with Miss Annie when he finally noticed something that seemed significant.

"Why doesn't Monty ever come out to the farm?"

It was after lunch. Chet had just left and Bucky was sitting on the porch swing alternately watching the chickens peck the ground and Miss Annie in one of the porch rocking chairs as she knitted a blue cap.

A shadow passed over her face as she paused her needles before answering.

"He has his reasons."

Bucky had a suspicion what the reason was.

"Is he upset because I'm living in the house with you?"

Sarah paused again and set down her needles in her lap. She didn't say anything right away and Bucky took that as a yes.

"If it's a problem I can..."

He stopped. He didn't want to leave. If he tried hard enough he could remember the confusion in his mind, the fear he would go back to what he'd been. Here things were different. Here there was no fear.

"It's fine Bucky. You don't need to go anywhere yet."

"I just don't want to come between the two of you."

Bucky felt a twinge of jealousy as he thought of the possibility that Monty and Miss Annie had a relationship, which was uncalled for. He didn't deserve anyone let alone someone like her. It had been so long since he'd felt these feelings. They were nice, much nicer than anything he'd felt in so long.

A touch on his hand brought him out of his thoughts.

"Bucky, it's OK. You can stay. And there's nothing going on between Monty and myself."

Bucky was relieved, and not just because he could stay.

After that, Bucky found himself thinking more of her. He realized he'd already learned what made her smile, having the coffee ready when she came downstairs in the morning, getting the steamed milk in the evening, suggesting a walk by the creek that ran through her property. The way she looked at him made him feel warm and comfortable and loved. And he deserved none of that, no matter what she seemed to think.

It was maybe another week before he resolved to tell her his fear.

At dinner one night he finally had to tell her.

"I killed people."

No point delaying.

She looked at him but didn't respond, waiting for him to explain.

"I was a, uh, assassin."

Bucky wasn't sure what to make of her lack of surprise. So he continued.

"A group called HYDRA experimented on me, they did things to me that made me practically immortal. They brainwashed me, and then ordered me to kill."

Miss Annie's only reaction was a slow steady breath in. There was no fear in her eyes, only compassion. Bucky couldn't understand.

"I worked for decades for them. I killed so many people."

Bucky paused a moment before he got to his main point.

"I could have been the one who killed you son or even your husband."

She looked away this time and tears sprang to her eyes. Bucky felt horrible. This was worse than admitting to Stark that he could remember killing Howard and Maria. He owed Stark nothing. But Miss Annie, he felt like he owed her his life.

"You didn't. "

She finally spoke, her voice cracked with emotion.

"My son went down in a plane. No assassin involved. My husband, well, I know that wasn't you either. That was just war. He wasn't important enough to draw that sort of attention from HYDRA."

She turned back to him.

"You didn't choose what happened to you, HYDRA forced you and if you'd been yourself you never would have done those things."

Bucky studied her face. She reminded him so much of Steve at that moment. Her conviction, her defense of him, her eyes, the set of her jaw. He shook those thoughts from his mind. Steve had no living relatives. It was only coincidence, or the similarity of her words to Steve's causing him to think that way.

"I'm still responsible."

She reached her hand to his.

"You need to heal."

He fought the urge to take her in his arms and literally cry on her shoulder.

"It's OK, Bucky. It's OK to give yourself time to heal."

She watched him struggle and didn't release his hand until he nodded his head in agreement.

It took some time after that for Bucky to feel calm again. Some nights he'd lay awake and mentally catalogued his victims. Those nights he'd inevitably hear Miss Annie come downstairs and start a pan of milk heating. Bucky would get up to see if she was OK and they'd sit at the table and talk while they sipped their milk.

It was those nights that she began to give him a hug before she went back upstairs. The first was awkward. Bucky wasn't used to it. But he relaxed into her embrace. Each time she held him, Bucky felt his mind grow more peaceful.

When they went to town he watched Monty and didn’t think the man was overtly interested in Miss Annie. That gave him what he thought was an unusual relief. It shouldn't matter to him if Miss Annie was involved with a guy. She was a beautiful woman in every way. She could have a relationship with a nice guy if she wanted.

Time went by, he was never sure how much. His mind settled again and he began to sleep through the night. He began to believe Miss Annie, that he should, and could, be healed. That his mind, while he'd never be who he once was, he'd be able to trust himself again and return to Steve.

His thoughts of the last time he saw Steve were always vague. He assumed it was just a part of his need to heal. The one thing he could remember was the pain on his friend's face. He'd hated to leave him, but it was the only way.

Sometimes, just before he drifted to sleep, he would almost feel as if he could remember how he left Steve. The bright room, the cylinder, Steve's pain. But he could never quite grasp the memory completely.

Mostly it didn't matter anymore. He was happy where he was. He had good friends, fresh air, work that was fulfilling. Wasn't that all he needed?

He also had Miss Annie. He found himself thinking more about her in a way he'd not thought about a woman since before he'd fallen from that train during the war. At least he couldn't remember feeling this way.

Sometimes he'd pause just inside the barn door and watch her. She had a gentle way with everything she did. Her lips always seemed to be curved slightly upwards, as if she was pleased with even the work in her life. When she'd catch him watching, and Bucky never tried to hide it, her eyes would crinkle at the edges as she smiled at him.

There were times in the evening that they might go for a walk and he wanted to ask to hold her hand, but he knew that he wasn't there yet. She deserved a man who was whole who could care for her not just be cared for by her.

Bucky began to think he'd get to that point one day. Then he'd bring Steve here. Steve would like it, Bucky was sure. He'd like the fellas in town, and Miss Annie wouldn't have a problem putting him up for a while. Maybe by then Bucky would have moved into a different room, the one upstairs. Maybe by then he and Miss Annie would be making other plans, ones with a future.

Bucky tried to remember the way he used to woo a lady, the things he said and did that caused them to duck their heads and flutter their eyelashes. But when he'd try something he thought might be romantic with Miss Annie, it came out all wrong. He considered asking one of the fellas in town for help but that might end up being more like asking a gal's brother.

_"I'm turning into you."_

Bucky smiled at the memory of Peggy's visit to the pub where he was with Steve. He'd liked Peggy from that moment. Knew she was the one for Steve. Steve was still blushing like an idiot while she flirted with him and entirely ignored Bucky’s presence.

Shortly, though, the sweet memory turned sad as Bucky recalled how Steve had lost Peggy to the years he'd been in the ice. Everything Bucky had hoped for his friend and Peggy had never happened, because, like Bucky, the world had gone on but they had not gone on with the world.

When Bucky got like this he'd take a walk around Miss Annie's place to calm his thoughts. It was quiet except for the creek, and the birds, and the occasional farm animal squawking or lowing.

When he returned to the house he'd look for her and work with her at whatever task she'd be on. She never asked questions, never offered advice, only occasionally, when he got too lost in his memories, remind him to take the time to heal.

He knew he was in love with her and the reasons for keeping himself back and not telling her were slowly vanishing from his mind. Sometimes he'd recall something bad, but it seemed more like a bad dream now than an event he'd have to reckon for some day.

When they were in town, he'd sometimes look at the pretty things at the merc, wondering if there were any that she'd like, but if he bought something, Monty would know and in a town so small he could count the residents on two hands, he knew everyone would know.

So he satisfied himself with flowers he picked on his walks and sketches of birds he made while looking out his bedroom window. He'd sometimes get up before her and make the coffee, or sometimes, once she'd taught him to cook, make dinner for her. For now it was enough. Bucky felt he could take it slowly because he knew he wasn't planning to leave. Not just soon, but at all. Out there somewhere there was pain and suffering, some of it he'd caused. But he didn't like to think about that anymore. He wanted to get better, feel better, and here he did.

Even being around people here didn't bother him. He never worried about hurting anyone here. He didn't worry about his reactions to anything or anyone. When he was in town he never felt the need to hide or to check his surroundings. He was pretty sure this was how he used to be before he was turned into nothing more than a killing machine.

They were in town one day, Bucky was waiting at the Saloon for Miss Annie to return. She'd gone to see the doc which she did once in a while. Bucky had yet to meet the man. He wasn't interested. Doctors were not on his list of people he trusted. He hadn't met the sheriff yet either and that was fine with him too. It never occurred to him that in such a small town it was strange not to have at least run into them once in all his time here.

The door opened and Bucky looked up expecting to see Miss Annie. Instead there was an older, thin man he'd never seen.

"Oh, thank god, Barnes, I need to talk to you."

The man approached him and Bucky felt himself go on alert for the first time in months.

"I'm so sorry, pal. If I'd known you were still alive I swear we'd have looked for you."

His voice was pleading. He sat down in the chair next to Bucky and Bucky felt himself pull away.

"Listen to me. They don't want me to tell you. Sarah and Erskine think it will be a problem if you remember but I can't let you leave without at least talking to you. I mean, we have no idea when you'll be forced to go back. I had to tell you I'm sorry for not looking for you and Steve."

Bucky was still at the mention of Steve.

"Who are you?"

His voice was foreign even to himself at that moment.

"Howard! What do you think you're doing?"

Both men looked over at Miss Annie who had entered without notice.

The older man stood to face her.

"Sarah, I had to talk to him. What if he has to leave before I can?"

"Howard, we talked about this. He needs time."

"Sarah, we don't know how much time he has left. And I needed to at least tell him."

"Howard?"

Bucky turned to see that Tim had come out from the kitchen.

"Where's Peg?"

The normally jovial man looked ready to pummel this new arrival.

"For godssake, Dugan, what could I do to her?"

The new man, Howard, rolled his eyes at Tim.

Bucky’s mind was spinning, trying to connect what was happening in front of him. Howard. Dugan. Peg. Sarah.

He looked at Miss Annie. She looked horrified and angry at the scene before her. Just as he had seen her look so many times when he'd drag Steve home from a fight.

"Sarah Rogers?"

He managed to croak out her proper name, though Bucky felt he should be calling her only Mrs. Rogers.

She looked up at him, her face instantly changing to regret and sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Bucky. We thought this would be the best way."

Bucky turned to look at Tim.

"Dum Dum."

The other man nodded. Though his harsh gaze was still leveled at Howard. Who Bucky turned to now.

"Stark."

"Yes."

"But you're dead. I."

Bucky stopped. His mind was spinning. It wasn't just Howard who was dead. Dum Dum was. Sarah had died before the war.

"How is this possible?"

No one answered and Bucky began to place the faces of the townspeople with the names of the Howling Commandos.

"You're all dead."

Bucky looked around wildly but Sarah and Dum Dum just seemed to be waiting. Howard was not to be deterred.

"Yes. Yes. We're all dead. But that's not the problem at the moment."

Bucky looked back at the older man.

"I killed you. I killed your wife."

Sarah made a little strangled noise and Bucky turned to her. Her eyes were filling with unshed tears.

"Bucky. That wasn't you."

Her whispered words were meant to soothe him, but he couldn't let them. Not now, standing face to face with one of his victims.

"Howard. I'm."

How did one apologize for the evil he'd committed against a friend, against his wife? He looked down at his flesh hand. He could feel Maria's skin on his fingers, hear her last breaths, feel her nails as they clawed in desperation.

Everything came flooding back in a rush. All the years. All the victims. He looked at Sarah and could see Steve. The times he'd hurt him, especially that last time when he couldn't even look because he knew the pain that was on his face as Bucky left him again.

"Am I dead?"

"No."

Sarah's voice was soft and she took a step toward him, meaning to comfort, Bucky was sure. But he couldn't let her.

Instead he ran out the door and down the street. His mind couldn't make sense of any of this.

He ended up in a spot he'd found months earlier on one of his walks. A willow grew out over the creek here and there was a place underneath that was perfect to sit. He leaned against the trunk and closed his eyes. He listened as the water ran through the little gully just out of sight. Usually it calmed him, but today his mind was too confused to settle.

He sat there, unmoving, until after the sun went down. He replayed everything he could recall trying to figure out if this was real or a dream. He had to rule out dream because his dreams when he was in stasis were never like this. They were disjointed, often horrific. His mind was never at ease and nothing truly made sense. Of course what made sense about having lived for months in a town filled with people who had been dead for years?

He needed answers but he couldn't go back to Steve's mom, not yet. It was too much to think about her, about his feelings for her. If at any point he'd ever thought they were inappropriate, now they definitely were. He couldn't allow himself to be in love with his best friend's mother.

He walked back to town and surveyed the situation. He watched as a few people walked out of the saloon. He saw Monty and Chet, no, Falsworth and the colonel, he corrected himself. They were with two older people, a man and a woman, that Bucky didn't recognize. He watched as Falsworth returned to his place. Colonel Philips got into his truck and drove down the road. The older man and woman spoke for several more minutes before the man entered the doctor's house and the woman walked toward the Sheriff's.

Bucky made himself known to her silently before she took the first step onto the building.

"Sergeant Barnes."

Her voice was familiar and as Bucky approached her he finally knew who she was.

"Agent Carter."


	5. Loyalty and Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery, bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice..." Morihei Ueshiba

A formal sitting room inside a Sheriff's station was odd, but then Bucky was sitting in one of the soft chairs taking tea with a woman who had been dead for at least a year, maybe more, so he probably should adjust his definition of odd.

Peggy wouldn't talk until they sat for tea. Time was relative here she'd told him.

"Is this heaven?"

Bucky set his tea cup back on the saucer then placed them together on the table.

"There are some that call it so."

Peggy was silent for a moment before Bucky realized he'd get no further answer from her.

"Am I dead?"

He couldn't recall dying.

Peggy shook her head.

Bucky took a sharp breath to indicate his frustration before asking his next question.

"Then why am I here?"

Peggy nodded.

"That's a question I can answer more specifically. Sarah brought you here because she believed it would help you heal."

Bucky swallowed the lump that suddenly grew in his throat. When he spoke again he could only manage a whisper.

"How did she know?"

She'd known before he told her, probably everything if the rumors of heaven were true.

"That's somewhat of a long story that I will make as short as possible."

Peggy took another sip of tea  and settled back into her chair.

"Sarah came here after her death. She'd promised Steve to meet him here. If you think I'm sure you'll remember the dream of moving to the countryside where Steve could have fresh air and not get sick so often."

Bucky nodded, the memory suddenly becoming vivid. The house he and Steve had designed, that was the house Sarah lived in now.

"Time here, as I've said, is relative. A hundred years might pass and we'd never notice. It's unimportant. She waited for Steve to come after his own death."

Peggy took another sip of tea.

"Falsworth came first. He was looking for Steve and you. He'd heard Sarah was here and thought he'd find you both through her."

"How did he hear that?"

But Peggy shook her head.

"Those are things I cannot tell you. They are things we know as if second nature, as if we'd never known anything else."

Bucky waited as Peggy finished her tea and poured herself another cup. She mixed in some cream and sugar and continued the story.

"One by one people arrived, most continued on their way assuming they'd come back to find you both at some point. As I've said, time means nothing here.

"The last to arrive, before me, was Howard. Maria had come with him. When he learned Steve wasn't here yet he sought out Dr. Erskine. Between the two they came up with a theory that Steve hadn't died in the crash."

Peggy paused and released a sigh that was full of meaning.

"This is where the story takes the unusual turn."

Peggy took another sip of tea.

"Howard made up his mind to find Steve."

Bucky blinked at Peggy.

"How?"

"By going back."

"You can go back? Like ghosts?"

Peggy smiled tolerantly and shook her head.

"No. None of us can do that. We can't appear to a conscious person. I've no idea what it is that people see, but it's no one from here. People here would never..."

Peggy paused.

"Well, obviously not "never" because I know two who've done it. What I mean to say is that it is extremely rare because the cost is too high."

Bucky's blood felt cold. His breath grew shallow. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the price Sarah had to pay.

"You see, here people don't have the same, I hesitate to say feelings, basically people here have a peace they never had while living. To go back, one must forfeit that peace."

Bucky wasn't even sure what to think. He hadn't been so overwhelmed by his feelings in a long time.

"Why?"

It was the only word he could form.

Peggy shook her head at him as if he should know the answer.

"She loves you."

Bucky took a deep breath. He knew Peggy didn't mean that Sarah loved him the way he had started to love her. It was like Steve. In fact, this was exactly the sort of thing Steve would have done, had done. He sacrificed himself, his freedom, everything he had for Bucky.

"I want the whole story."

He could barely form those few words and he hoped Peggy would understand. 

She nodded and poured him some more tea.

"When Stark and Erskine made their assumptions about Steve, there really was only one way to test their theory. Howard had to find out. Even with the peace afforded the dead he was apparently rather driven. At the time no one really understood why."

She took a sip of her tea and looked toward the curtained window. It was night out and there was only their reflection to be seen.

"Maria would have none of it, of course. She told Howard that if he went back she would leave him. Still he continued, so she moved on."

Peggy shook her head sadly and turned back to Bucky.

"Howard did indeed make contact with Steve, but, if Steve remembers it at all it would be only a dream to him. Howard confirmed he was alive and that he was waiting for, well, me."

Peggy looked sad for a moment before shaking herself out of it.

"So, Howard remained here and the rest waited. And then I arrived.

"I wasn't looking for either of you. I knew you were both alive. I had heard of the place and had been told what they were waiting for. I thought it as good a place to visit as any."

Now she smiled and Bucky could recall the smiles she used to give Steve when they thought no one else was paying attention.

"It was so good to see everyone again. And wonderful to finally meet Steve's mother. I told her he'd been found and would still be a while. Then I told the others you were also alive and that Steve was looking for you. I didn't have all the details. Steve only shared a small bit on his visits. At the time I couldn't very well carry on a conversation, sadly."

She finally set her teacup down then folded her hands in her lap.

"That's when Howard finally told us how he and Maria died."

Bucky was seized with an urge to run again. 

"Needless to say we were all very upset to learn what had happened to you. But none of us more than Sarah. She spent hours talking to Howard about you, trying to understand. And, for the first time, she actually left this place. She and Howard journeyed to seek answers from others as to what had happened to you. When they returned, Sarah had already made up her mind what to do. And, well, she's just like Steve when she gets an idea like that."

Peggy laughed and Bucky wished he could feel as light.

"They learned about the cryo-chamber and felt that at some point if HYDRA were to capture you again, they'd freeze you. So she would check every so often. Then, one day, she went and didn't return for some time. She'd been apparently trying to talk to you. She told us you'd be arriving and that's when we started to plan."

Peggy sighed now and shook her head again.

"Howard didn't want all the subterfuge. He wanted to speak to you right away, he was afraid you might get revived before he'd get the chance."

"So you threw him in the brig."

Peggy laughed at Bucky’s words.

"Yes. I'm afraid we did. He wasn't very happy, but Howard isn't cooperative when he doesn't want to be and Sarah was afraid if you knew who we all were right away it would scare you and you wouldn't stay."

"How would I leave?"

He still didn't even really understand how he'd arrived, but he had the feeling this was another one of those things people here just "knew."

"You can leave any time. You just have to choose to."

Bucky thought about that for a moment.

"Every time I thought about leaving, something stopped me until I could change my mind."

"That's Sarah's doing. She has some way of knowing what you're feeling."

Bucky knew he paled at that.

"Like she can read my mind?"

If she could, she'd know how Bucky felt for her. Bucky felt his face grow red. 

"I'm not really sure how it works. I'm not sure she even knows how it works. It's somewhat uncharted territory."

Peggy's words reminded Bucky again of Sarah's sacrifice for him. 

"I need to talk to her."

Bucky's words came out in a resigned sigh.

"Just remember, she thinks you are worth it."

Bucky looked sharply at Peggy, her words an echo of his own conversation with Steve. But she only stood to see him out.

* * *

 

The sun declared mid-morning by the time Bucky stepped onto the driveway of the farm. He could see Sarah sitting on the rocking chair on the porch. Her face was pinched with worry, another reminder of what he'd taken from her. She should be carefree, she should be at peace, she shouldn't have to be worrying about him. But she had given that up to help him. He had no idea what he'd ever done to deserve such devotion from either Steve or her. He'd only been Steve's friend, anyone could have done that.

By the time he stepped onto the porch, Bucky's heart was in his throat and he couldn't speak. Instead he fell to his knees in front of Sarah and clung to her, burying his head in her lap, and he cried. When was the last time he really cried for something he'd done to someone else? He'd taken Steve's future, and now Sarah's as well.

He felt Sarah's hand press against his head and her fingers begin to pull through his hair. She leaned forward until her head pressed against his and whispered calming words to him. He lost track of the time, but neither moved until Bucky found his sorrow had spent for the time and he could finally speak.

"I wish you hadn't done this."

He looked up at her and reached for her face.

"You didn't have to."

"Of course I did. You mean so much to Steve, you always have. You were always there for him, always by his side. You were better to him than any brother could ever have been."

She touched his face and Bucky leaned against her palm. As she smoothed her thumb against his cheek, he felt himself relax. He closed his eyes and forced himself to remember who she was, that the touch didn't mean to her what it did to him. She loved him because Steve loved him, nothing more.

"I don't want to leave you."

He really didn't. He didn't want to go back to what he'd been, but more, he didn't want to leave Sarah alone now that she would be subject to worry and sadness, all those things she shouldn't have to be.

 "You can stay until they call you back."

Bucky opened his eyes and saw that Sarah had begun to cry. He reached both hands to her face now and wiped the tears. She shouldn't have to cry anymore, and she wouldn't be if not for him.

She moved her hand to press against his mouth and he realized he'd said his thoughts out loud.

"It really is worth it, Bucky. You are worth it."

He wondered again at those words. But Sarah began to rise before he could ask her about them. She took him by the hand and they went into the house. They made their lunch together as was becoming their custom. As they sat and ate, Sarah had a soft smile on her face, as if she was somehow still content despite her lack of peace. Bucky couldn't understand.

The rest of the day they only did the most necessary of chores. And by the time dinner came, they were too tired to do more than make a light meal and head to bed. He wondered if the others got tired. Did people sleep here or was it only he and Sarah, maybe Howard?

Bucky stopped before heading down the hall to his room and turned back to Sarah who was walking toward the staircase.

"I love you."

He figured it didn't matter if he said it now. If she really could read his mind she already knew his thoughts. But she looked at him slightly surprised, then smiled as if she understood, but Bucky could see she didn't really think he meant it in more than the most simple way, the way a friend would say to a friend.

"I love you, too, Bucky."

She took the stairs and Bucky listened as she opened then shut her bedroom door. He could tell by her tone that she didn't mean it the way he did, but it had to be OK because she had already given so much for him, he would be happy with this.


End file.
